When a night is cool and smooth,
No lights embarrassing the dark,
And silken sleep has come to soothe
The last thing wanted – sudden bark.
Sharp noises are a wound to sleep;
They tear apart its tender flesh.
Soft pillows out of down will keep
The peaceful dream-flow swift and fresh.
But stab a noise into peace,
And all the sleeping sheep will flee,
And all the pleasant dreams will cease
As silence breaks like pottery.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.